God Rest Ye
by dabbling
Summary: Sick at Christmas. Kind of a sucky way to spend the holiday. Or maybe it's not. Sequel to The Line That Must Not Be Crossed.
1. Chapter 1

God Rest Ye

A/N This story is a sequel to The Line That Must Not Be Crossed. You probably don't need to read that one to enjoy this one, but it might make more sense if you do.

Bobby awoke to a thrumming headache. He attributed it to poor sleep and put on a pot of coffee before calling his partner. She'd been sick with the flu. He'd seen her last night. She said she was feeling better, but he knew she was still feverish. He'd promised to call and check in on her.

"Good morning," she said, sounding tired but cheerful.

"Morning," he echoed back. "How are you?"

"I'm still tired, but I feel pretty good, considering. I think I'm going to make myself breakfast and take a shower."

Bobby smiled, still rubbing his temples. "You sound better," he told her.

"It's Christmas Eve," she told him. "You have plans?"

Bobby chuckled. Did he ever have plans on a holiday since his mother died? "No, you know, just watch some seasonal movies on TV and have a drink or two."

"I'm supposed to go to my sisters, but… I really don't want them all to come down with this."

"You're still feverish?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"You ever heard of a thermometer?" he teased.

"I have no idea where it is. I've gotten through plenty of illnesses without it."

He raked his hand through his hair and grunted a reply.

Her face drew up in concern. "Hey. You okay?"

"Yeah, I uh… didn't sleep well. Headache."

"You know, this started with a headache."

"I don't have the flu."

"You were around me almost the whole time."

"I don't have the flu."

"All right, all right. You going in today?"

"Yeah."

"Call me when you decide to go home. I have something for you."

"Eames," he protested softly. She did this to him every year. Every year, they said they wouldn't get each other gifts, and every year she said she got "caught up in the spirit" and found something for him she couldn't resist.

"I know, Bobby, but I saw it and I knew you would love it. I want you to have it to open on Christmas."

"All right. I'll call you later."

* * *

><p>"How's it coming?" The Captain asked Goren as he stopped by his desk.<p>

Bobby stacked a few papers and stuffed them into a brown folder. "I just polished these, they're ready for the DA's office." He handed the folder to the Captain, who perused them quickly.

"Nice work. Now go home and enjoy your holiday."

"Sir?" He expected to have to work all day on Christmas Eve, and then take his vacation.

"You and Eames have been working Christmas for the last two years. Take your time, you've earned it."

"Thank you, sir… and happy holidays to you, as well. Chag Chanukah sameach."

"Thank you, Goren." He tapped the closed folder against Bobby's shoulder as he walked past, headed for his office.

Bobby's head was pounding, and the pills he'd taken didn't seem to be helping at all. He finished his coffee, threw on his coat, gathered his things, and headed home.

* * *

><p>The hot wings he ate for lunch were not agreeing with him at all. He sat at his kitchen table, trying to focus on wrapping Eames' gift and not on the shooting pains in his digestive tract.<p>

A little voice kept whispering the word "flu" in his ear, but he kept shutting it down. Bobby looked at the poor wrapping job and sighed. It would have to do. He shuffled to the bedroom and laid on his bed to take a short nap.

He lost the battle with the hot wings.

* * *

><p>She was knocking on his door so hard that he thought his head was pounding in unison with her. Bobby rolled out from under the covers, thought for a moment that he might throw up again, then decided it was safe to walk to the living room instead.<p>

"Eames, Eames," he groaned as he pulled the door open.

She frowned when she saw him. "Bobby, you're sick," she said, following him inside and closing the door.

He grumbled something incoherent and flopped in his recliner, closing his eyes against the aches and pains.

She followed him still, and pressed her hand against his forehead. "Is it the flu?" Alex asked.

He lifted his lids and stared at her with glassy eyes.

Alex took off her coat and tossed it over the back of the couch. "Well, I'll just have to take care of you, then."

"No, Eames."

"Bobby, you caught this from me. It's the least I can do. Besides, it's Christmas Eve."

"Just a day like any other," he complained.

She sighed and frowned at him, but he already had his eyes closed again. Alex went to the kitchen and saw the poorly-wrapped gift on the table. With a smile, she touched her hand to it. Then she turned and poured him a glass of water.

"You need to stay hydrated," she explained, bringing him the glass.

He frowned at her but allowed her to set the glass on the table beside his chair. Alex made herself comfortable on his couch. Bobby didn't intend to, but as he sat with his friend nearby, he drifted to sleep.

Alex looked Bobby over carefully. She could see his pale skin under his five o'clock shadow. She could see the flush in his cheeks. He seemed so helpless, lying in the recliner, and Alex knew all too well how he was feeling.

She got up from the couch and pressed the back of her fingers to his neck. She wasn't surprised to feel the heat coming from his skin. Alex let her hand move up to his curls, combing them gently. She found herself thinking about the conversation they'd had last night… about the line between friendship and something more.

Alex left him and went into the kitchen. She busied herself cleaning. She picked up the gift and brought it to the living room. Alex set it on the coffee table, next to the gift bag she'd brought with her when she arrived.

Bobby tried to turn to his side and moaned uncomfortably. Then he turned the other way. She went back to the kitchen and found a box of chicken stock and a bag of frozen vegetables. She started some soup simmering on his stove.

When she returned to the living room, he was gone. She took a few steps down the hall and heard the sounds of him retching in the bathroom. Alex frowned and went back out to the living room.

After several minutes, Bobby returned. He sank heavily into his chair and took a sip of the water she'd poured earlier. "You're still here?" he asked her.

Alex offered him a smile. "Where else would I be?" she said with a shrug.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"I'm lousy company," Bobby muttered, rubbing his hand over his face.

Alex smiled at him. "I'd rather be here than home alone," she said. "Can you try some soup?"

He sighed. "I don't know."

"Well, it's on the stove whenever you're ready."

He closed his eyes and sighed again, then he turned on the television. Fortunately, a Christmas movie was on, a comedy. Bobby took another drink of water before settling back to watch the movie.

Eventually, he tried some soup, but he couldn't keep it down. Bobby retreated to his bedroom, intending to hide from her the rest of the night.

Alex had other ideas. She waited until he was asleep and then tucked him in carefully. Next, she found the can of cleaner and scrubbed down his bathroom. When she went back to his room, he had thrown the covers off.

Alex chuckled to herself and covered him again. She was pleased to see a trickle of sweat at his temple. Maybe his fever was breaking.

Alex gently wiped his face with a damp washcloth. He moaned and turned to his side.

She dropped her hands to her side and sat beside him, staring once more and analyzing her feelings.

Somewhere along the way, he'd become her best friend. Besides her family, he was the only person she shared her life with. And as she stared at his sleeping form, she wondered if she loved him.

When she searched her heart, she found without a doubt that she did. But Bobby was right. There was a line between them, a line that preserved their partnership as much as it did their friendship. And that line could not be crossed. At least not now, not yet. Maybe sometime down the road, when they were in a different place in their careers, they could find the way to erase that barrier between them.

Alex Eames was no fool. Even as she rationalized the need for it, she knew how quickly and how easily everything could change. It was possible they could grow closer eventually, but it was just as possible that they could grow apart.

Even thinking that thought sent a pain through her heart. Alex sighed. She accepted that she loved him. He mumbled in his sleep, and she rested her hand on his arm for just a moment. She could act on that love, even if she never professed it. In that way, she could be true to her own heart, and still honor his wishes.

Alex tucked him in one last time and then returned to the living room, where she stretched out on his couch under a throw blanket. She watched holiday movies until the wee hours, when she fell hard asleep.

* * *

><p>Bobby was tired in the morning, but he felt like a new man. The fact that Alex had cleaned his bathroom didn't escape his notice. He saw her hair peeking out from a lumpy blanket on his couch and he was more careful to step quietly when he walked.<p>

Bobby drank some water, and then decided to try a piece of toast. He sat at the clean kitchen table, quietly eating his breakfast.

"Merry Christmas," she spoke softly behind him.

He twisted his body in the chair and couldn't help but grin a little. "Merry Christmas," Bobby replied.

She touched his cheek as she walked past, and then gave her full attention to the coffee machine. "Your fever broke?"

"Ninety-eight point seven."

"Ah. You have a thermometer."

"And I know how to use it," he teased her.

Alex sat down beside him. "I'm glad you're feeling better."

"How was the couch?"

Alex stretched. "Actually, I slept like a baby." She didn't add that it carried his scent, and she'd dreamed she was in his arms.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised. "I think it's a little lumpy."

"Not to me."

"You should go to your sister's. You're not sick anymore."

Alex smiled. "I already told them I wasn't coming."

He stood up slowly, rubbed his eyes, and carried his plate to the sink. Bobby stared out the window a moment. "It's snowing."

"A white Christmas! Perfect."

Bobby turned his eyes to her, wondering how she could be so cheerful.

"What?"

He shrugged. "I guess I'm not used to such, uh…"

"Hey, it's Christmas. I'm allowed to let go of my sardonic wit for one day a year."

Bobby gave her a shy grin. "So long as it doesn't become a habit." He rubbed his eyes again, hard.

"You should rest."

"Yeah," he grunted. "I guess so." He started to turn, to head for the living room, when her arm stretched across his torso. He stopped, enjoying the sensation but wondering what she was getting at.

"Unless you feel like opening your present first."

He smiled. He shook his head. He nodded. He felt every cell in his skin shimmer and shake as her hand glided across his chest, his stomach, and fell away from him. "Okay," Bobby whispered as he walked slowly to his living room. He eased down on the couch, unable to ignore the fact that his gift to her looked as if it had been wrapped by a three-year-old. Hers, in contrast, was neat and festive.

"You first," she said, offering him the brightly colored bag.

He smiled, and hesitated a moment. Then he dug into the bag, removing layers of tissue paper and pulling out a thick book. "The Making of Scotch Whisky, a History of the Scotch Whiskey Distilling Industry…" He couldn't help but grin.

"I realize you probably already know everything about it, but I saw it and it was on sale and I couldn't help myself."

"I don't." He looked at her, smiling. "I don't know everything about it. Thank you, Eames." He turned the book over in his hands and then cleared the bag out of his way. He set the book on the coffee table and handed her the bundle that was her gift. "S-sorry about the wrapping. I wasn't feeling very well at the time."

"At least you have a good excuse this year," she teased him. Alex ripped the paper open, revealing a beautiful hand-woven scarf. Not the kind people wore for warmth, but the kind to accentuate a woman's outfit. "Oh, Bobby, it's gorgeous!" she said, stretching it out between her hands and admiring the subtle variations in color.

"It's hand-made. I got it directly from the artist."

"I love it."

He smiled brightly.

Alex leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him.

Bobby's breath stalled, and he, too, enfolded her in his arms. The hug lasted longer than it should have. At last the two moved away from each other.

Unsure about what had just happened, Alex jumped to her feet and scooped up the spent wrapping paper and the bag his gift had been in. She disappeared into the kitchen.

Bobby took a deep breath and let his head fall against the back of the couch. He'd gone too far with that hug. He'd held her just a little too tightly. But it was Christmas, and Christmas was all about love.

Bobby pulled his new book onto his lap and began reading. When Alex reappeared, he'd given in to his illness and fallen asleep.

* * *

><p>AN The Making of Scotch Whisky is a real book, and by my standards pretty expensive (at least on the website where I found it). It is authored by Michael S. Moss and John R. Hume, and I know nothing about it except that the title sounded like something Bobby might enjoy.


End file.
